


snapshots

by maureenbrown



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/F, Gryffindor Clary, Gryffindor Jace, Hogwarts, Hufflepuff Simon, M/M, Multi, Ravenclaw Alec, Slytherin Magnus, nonbinary meliorn, slytherin isabelle, slytherin meliorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8886994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maureenbrown/pseuds/maureenbrown
Summary: secret santa present for @coloringpencils on tumblr. :)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrozenHearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenHearts/gifts).



> beta'd by @magnusbane-daily on tumblr

Magnus flicks his wrist, and his usual favorite ‘History of Magic’ book, which he reads in his free time, shoots to the side as magic bursts from his black-painted fingertips. He pulls his wand out of his pants pocket—what, he couldn't be expected to wear his dreaded uniform when he wasn't required to, right?—narrowing his eyes at the book of incantations and spells in front of him.

He takes a deep breath before closing his eyes. Focusing on the frayed bits of wand in his fingertips, which is held together merely by his own magic, he finally moves his hand in the zigzag pattern below. "Wingardium—“ The wand, much to his chagrin but not surprise, falls apart in his hands and he sighs heavily. Magnus drops the splinters onto his bedspread before sinking to his knees; running his fingers tiredly through his hair.

Magnus, one of the most powerful warlocks in the history of Hogwarts, cannot use his wand without it shattering. All of his magic can be conjured by his fingertips or murmured words, but not by his wand. This is a first year spell and here he is, halfway through his seventh year…

"Magnus? You in there?" A low voice calls, one of his roommates knocking at his door. It's Meliorn, his fellow Slytherin, their hair dyed a darker blue color that Magnus once tried out (though his tips are golden now).

"It's your boyfriend, he got Isabelle to tell me to tell you to get downstairs." They call, and Magnus turns, leaning against the bed in an attempt to hide his books from his nosey roommate.

"Got it. Can you tell him I'll be down in a bit?" He asks, and Meliorn arches one nicely manicured eyebrow, their lips pursing suspiciously, but they nod regardless.

"Your wish is my command." They respond cockily, but they turn and depart, much to Magnus' relief. He quickly gathers his tarnished wand and books in a snap of his fingertips, shoving it underneath his pillow with a flourish, quickly smoothing his pressed vest with his Slytherin tie tucked underneath. He pushes through the door elegantly, making his way down the stairs and past the cooing mermaids that float through the glass window in the lake, offering a flash of a smile. They swoon, but he strides past briskly.

He manages to make it through the common room without much disturbance—a couple first years try and approach him, but he trudges ahead.

Eventually, he pushes open the heavy metal doors, glancing over at Alec, who lounges on the opposite side on the cool stone. He smiles almost immediately, though it's reserved and adorably shy, simply for him as he pushes off and steps towards him.

"Hey, Magnus, I was just wondering if you had anything to do today." He says. Magnus places a ring-clad hand on his hip, humming as he pretends to mull it over. In reality, he's finished his school work, and he supposes the spell work with his wand can wait.

"I guess I could leave a spot open for you in my busy schedule, if you'd like to come join me." He replies. Alec barks out a laugh once.  
"Yeah, yeah. Let's just not get in trouble with your housemates." He says, and Magnus takes his hand, encircling his fingertips around his wrist to guide him along, tugging the entryway back open again.  
"Then you'll have to be quiet." He reminds over his shoulder, smirking slightly.  
It's not like they haven't done this before, but especially not at around six o'clock in the evening, when more people are roaming the space. Many turn their heads to look questionably, but none bother to ask what the Ravenclaw is doing trespassing, as long as he's accompanied by Magnus. A couple immaturely whistle, though Magnus is amused regardless.

They rush up the stairs, Alec tripping over his feet despite his quick reflexes at his eagerness a couple times, and Magnus hardly stops a giggle from pushing past his lips.

Once they get up to his room, he makes sure none of his roommates are loitering before turning back around to see Alec. "So, darling, why did you want to see me?" He asks, closing the space between their chests as he places his hands on his shoulders.

Alec's cheeks heat up, which he'd assumed would happen, and his hands go naturally to Magnus' hips. "I just wanted to see you."

"Nothing else?" Magnus asks, raising his eyebrows as he tilts his head up to look up at Alec, though he's only a couple inches taller.

Alec pauses before he leans in to press their lips together, and Magnus hardly holds back a humming noise of contentment as he closes his eyes and lets one of his hands clasp the back of his neck. He's gotten so much more experienced at kissing since they've gotten together, not very tentative anymore as his hands wander lightly over his back.

Alec takes a couple steps forward, causing Magnus to take the same amount back, both repeating the pattern until the latter wizard's calves touch the end of the bed. He quickly switches positions before he falls back instinctively, sidestepping and pushing his shoulders back so he falls back onto the bed.

The move would've been so much more attractive had he not smacked his head on the pillow that rested atop the books.

Alec doesn't look too pained, but he lets out a quiet curse, the mood broken as he turns his head to grope for the pillow.

"Wait, Alexander!" Magnus calls, seizing his hand out, though Alec's eyebrows furrow as his palm encloses around the book. He pulls it out, studying it as he holds it above his head curiously, his head tilted to the side.

"Why're you reading a first year book?" He inquires, and Magnus forces out what he hopes doesn't sound too nervous of a laugh.

Before he can answer, Alec makes a tiny noise again, glancing at his fingertips. "Splinter." He murmurs, before glancing back underneath the pillow, lifting it up. There lies Magnus' cracked wand in several tiny pieces. Alec purses his lips.

"What happened?" He asks, though it sounds a bit like a demand, and it's clear he's piecing his story together in his head.

Before Alec can make any assumptions, Magnus sighs and plops down onto the foot of the bed. Facing Alec as he sits up and lets the objects go, intent on listening to him.

"I… I can't use my wand for magic. I guess I'm so powerful, it can't be contained in a tiny object, but it won't even allow me to do simple charms." Magnus confesses, holding Alec's gaze even though he wants to tear his eyes away in shame.

Alec looks shocked to say the least, his lips parted as his brain forms a thousand questions, eventually settling on one. "How come you never told me?"

"Because it's embarrassing, Alec. I can't make a feather levitate with a wand, and all the first years can." Magnus explains exasperatedly, rubbing one of his tired eyes, carefully not to smear his eye shadow.

Alec simply sighs again, but gives a semi understanding nod. "You could've, you know." He reminds softly, and he looks almost saddened now.

Magnus only nods, before crawling back over to his boyfriend, resting his head on his shoulder. They lay in silence for a while, neither falling asleep, their eyes open as Alec wraps an arm around his waist. "I could help you, if you want." He mumbles against the top of his head, and Magnus smiles gently.

"Please do." He accepts, lazily lifting his hand to whisk his fingers, the wand mending above their heads, the splinter even plucking itself from Alec's hand. It drops onto Alec's stomach, and he places it in Magnus' hand, keeping his own on top of it. He murmurs the incantation by his ear, and Magnus hears the way he pronounces each word, melting back against his chest as some of their magic intertwines.

"Wingardium Leviosa." Magnus repeats, feeling a rush of tingles through his fingertips. To his surprise, it bursts through the wand, some sparks appearing before the end of the blanket starts to lift.

Magnus hardly registers the surprised laughter coming from his own mouth, gaping as he watches it cover them up, his wand still buzzing in his hand as his boyfriend nuzzles against his jaw with a smile.

Magnus' eyes shimmer golden as he finally glances over at Alec, their foreheads nearly touching. "Teach me Protego now."

"It'd be my pleasure." Alec repeats in Magnus' tone.

…

Simon closes his mouth shut tightly as he feels his fangs start to enlarge, pressing against his closed lips. He pushes past people down the hallway, making muffled noises that are meant to be apologies, the smell of blood still wafting around him, all he can think about.

He stumbles his way through the hallways, breathing in heavily through his nose as he tries to distract himself. He’s thankful that there are no other students around him, his fingers twitching at his sides as he struggles to restrain himself.

It’s no use, his brain says. I need blood.

It echoes in his head repeatedly, and his steps get more frantic—hasn’t he rushed down this hallway three times?

Simon’s vision starts to go hazy, and he leans against the wall to support himself. His stomach is turning, and he closes his eyes tightly, willing the feeling to go away…

Is that blood he smells?

His senses overpower everything else, his fangs growing uncontrollably so they push past his lips, his eyes dilating as he sniffs the air. He follows the scent, suddenly conscious, his extra speed carrying him along the way.

Thankfully, Simon sees the location of it at the end of the hallway. There’s an enormous door blocking his way, but he slows before he collides, jamming his shoulder as his hand finds the door.

To his surprise, it falls open easily, and he nearly trips as he scrambles to get his bearings. He hardly needs to look around the room—it’s barren, save for a plain wooden table, packaged blood straight from a muggle hospital laying on the table, strewn with the blood types and information still attached.

Simon lurches forward, at the table in an instant. Ravenously, he rips the packets open and pours it down his throat, feeling it splash against his robes and white collar with his Hufflepuff tie. Caring is the last thing on his mind as he pours gallons of the blood down his throat.

He eventually slows down, feeling sated now that his bloodlust has been quenched. He slouches against the table, looking at the skewed bags (he’ll save them for later), along with a note he missed earlier.

He picks it up gingerly despite the bloodstains on his fingers. He scans it quickly in the dim lighting.

“Drink up. -Raphael.” The note is simple, but Simon is thankful regardless. Raphael is a Gryffindor a year or two younger than him, simply bonding over the fact he’s the only other vampire at Hogwarts that he knows of.

His ears pick up a couple steps down the hallway, the person’s gait bouncy and light. Simon’s breath hitches, glancing down at the blood splattered floor, the way it’s so obviously strewn on the table, covering his robes…

“Simon?” A voice calls, and his voice catches in his throat. She’s the worst person to be here, the absolute worst, she can’t know.

He turns slowly, meeting his best friend’s eyes.

Clary’s eyes immediately widen, scanning the blood stains around him, her expression horrified. “What happened, Simon?” She asks, rushing towards him, and he immediately puts his hands up to stop her.

“Don’t come closer.” He warns, waves of guilt crashing over him as he wipes his mouth, and Clary looks impossibly more frenzied.

She stutters a couple times, trying to get the words out, before she points at his face. “What happened to your teeth?” She asks, though she sounds resigned enough that she already knows what he’ll say, only wanting to hear it in his own words.

Simon drops his hands to his side pitifully, his head and shoulders drooping. “I’m a vampire—“

He hardly finishes his sentence before Clary abruptly knocks him against the table, nearly tripping and being forced to sit down as he deals with his best friend partially in his lap, leaning against him as if he’s her lifeline.

“Shut up, I don’t care.” She mumbles against his neck, her breathing picking up and voice high like it normally is like she’s about to cry.

“You should, I’m stable now, but—“

Clary cuts him off once again, shaking her head stubbornly. There’s a little bit of drying blood caked on her cheek and some in her hair, though she doesn’t seem to mind or notice. “I said I don’t care, Simon. You’ve controlled yourself up till now, and I know you won’t hurt me.” Her tone is nothing other than serious, her hands coming to grip his arms in a way that’s almost painful.

Simon starts to get choked up himself, eventually nodding and dropping his head shakily to her shoulder. There’s no use arguing with Clary, not that he wants to push her away, anyways.

“I’ll tell you everything someday.”

Clary doesn’t pry, only nods and goes on tiptoes to press a gently, shaky kiss to his cold cheek.

“It would make sense why you’re so damn cold all the time.” She jokes feebly, her voice wavering as she cracks a faint smile.

Simon grins back for her sake, blinking away the water that has welled up in his eyes. “Ah, yeah. It’s such a nuisance.” He says passively, as if they weren’t surrounded by plasma.

Clary laughs, and even though it’s hysteric, her eyes shine. It’s not just from the tears.

…

Isabelle’s hand closes around Clary’s on their way to Hogsmeade, discarding snow around as she steps delicately down amongst it in her heeled boots.

Clary fidgets with her Gryffindor scarf with her free hand. She seems slightly nervous, even with Izzy’s body heat pressed up against her.

“What’re you worried about?” Isabelle asks finally, interlacing their fingers comfortingly, trying to lean over so she can peer in Clary’s line of vision. She’d never expected so many complications on a first date, of all times.

Clary makes a startled noise, shrugging as she glances back at Izzy, biting her lip instinctually after a second. “It’s just… Simon’s not doing so well.” She manages finally, and Isabelle can clearly tell that’s not the only thing that’s bothering her.

However, she doesn’t pester more. She nods and gives Clary a look, which she somewhat guiltily avoids. After a couple minutes, they tromp through the heavy snow, eventually reaching the Three Broomsticks. Naturally, Isabelle opens the door and lets Clary step inside first. She drops her hand briefly, wandering inside with a second thought, glancing over to wait for Isabelle.

“Where do you want to sit?” Izzy asks, and Clary makes a beeline for one of the back tables. Much to Izzy’s chagrin but not surprise, it’s in the back, hidden mostly.

Isabelle’s stomach starts doing anxious backflips, but she purses her lips, grounding herself. Clary wouldn’t lie to her and go on a date with her when she asked just to be nice, right?

“Izzy?” Clary’s voice calls softly, taking her wrist in one delicate hand, though Isabelle’s seen all the damage it can do.

“Yes? Sorry, let’s go.” Isabelle recovers, flashing her a blinding smile that would’ve put her brother Jace to shame.

Isabelle manages to be as charming as possible, reaching across to take Clary’s hands across the table. They engage in small talk about her artwork, Clary fumbling with their fingers absentmindedly and giving short answers.

Izzy is glad when the Butterbeer she ordered comes, giving her an excuse to stay quiet and sip the bubbly drink. Clary’s not normally so absent, and it’s starting to worry her. Is she having second thoughts?

“Does it bug you that you’re a Slytherin and I’m a Gryffindor?” Clary asks finally, her voice loud enough to carry around the bustling, snapping Isabelle out of her stupor.

“What?” She starts, her heart sinking as she realizes Clary’s reason for panic.

Clary starts to repeat her question, but Isabelle cuts her off. “No, that’s not what I meant. I heard you, it’s just… That’s never bothered me. Not when we were friends, and it doesn’t now.” She says, and Clary glances away from Izzy, sighing a bit loudly as she places her chin in her hand.

“I know, but now we’re on a date, Isabelle—“

“Have you forgotten that my brother is also a Gryffindor?” Isabelle asks, narrowing her eyes, and Clary shakes her head.

“Yeah, but you can’t choose that part. You can choose me.” She says exasperatedly, her voice trying to portray how desperate she is.

Izzy blinks across the table at her before holding her hands palms up for Clary to take, her expression stern, serious in a way that reflects her mother's.

“I chose correctly, didn’t I? Honestly, Clary, why would you want me to second guess myself.” She says, and the Gryffindor carefully sets her hands in hers, immediately squeezing them. Her expression starts to look appeased.

“I never said I wanted you to, I just… I thought I’d bring it up. I don’t want your housemates to—“

Clary looks so goddamn concerned, her eyebrows knitting together adorably, and Izzy’s heart clamors in her chest, forcing her to take a couple deep breaths so she doesn’t feel faint.

“Clary.” She interrupts mid-stream of words, and Clary’s lips form into a straight line.

“What?”

“I’m going to kiss you because I want to be with you, no matter what Slytherin house says I should or shouldn’t do.” Isabelle says, dropping her voice down so that only Clary can hear. It’s not like she would’ve cared either way.

Clary makes an adorable surprised noise, and then they both rise from the table, pressing their lips together at the same time. It’s not rushed, or heated, or soft. It’s merely a touch, and it sends both of their heads spinning, so much that Izzy has to plop down back into the splintered booth, her eyes widened and Clary’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline.

“Do you still think I’m worried about it?” She asks, and Clary manages a shaky laugh, her voice tremoring.

“Well, seeing as you kissed me in the Three Broomsticks of all places, I suppose not.” She mumbles, and Izzy beams once more.

“Yeah, yeah. Now finish your butterbeer, I want to head back up to my dorms so we can cuddle. My four poster is enormous.” Isabelle says casually, letting go of Clary’s hands as she takes a dainty sip of her own.

Clary knocks her glass over as she reaches for it quickly. She gets to wear Izzy’s clothes for the rest of the day.

Neither complain, naturally.

…

Simon loudly swings his legs, hovering on the edge of a table as he watches Jace concentrate. His dirty blonde eyebrows are knit together as he raises his wand, exuberating confidence. He doesn’t look away from his target, which is a random spot on the ceiling somewhere, despite Simon humming and fidgeting.

Eventually, once Jace decides he’s collected himself enough, he takes a deep breath, narrowing his eyes. “Expecto Patronum!” He chants, and a rush of energy bursts through the room.

A wispy creature makes its way through the tip of the wand, and to Jace’s surprise, he lets out a jolt of a noise. Despite Simon’s whooping and cheering of his friend, he concentrates harder.

Suddenly, the animal dissipates before it can take a proper form. Its long snout turns to smoke and then dissolves, it’s spindly tail moving along with it.

The aura around the room changes, and Jace’s shoulders slouch. “I thought I had it that time.” He mutters, mainly to himself.

Simon appears crestfallen, though he jumps off the rickety table and approaches Jace, putting his hands on his shoulders to make him glance up. “Was it a powerful memory?”

He asks, and Jace shrugs after a moment, dragging his teeth across his lower lip distractingly.

Simon cocks his head to the side, huffing as he drops his hands to his sides limply. “Maybe you weren’t thinking about it hard enough.”

Jace shakes his head immediately and stubbornly. “That’s not it. I know that memory like the back of my hand.”

“What was it?” Simon can’t help but blurt, and Simon’s normally confident is nowhere to be found. He wears a scowl now, self-deprecating thoughts clearly whirling through his head.

“Doesn’t matter, it didn’t work anyway.”

“Then let’s find a new one! There’s gotta be something up there, right?” Simon asks, lifting a hand to cup the back of Jace’s neck, causing his gaze to snap up. His looks are scrutinizing before he bows his head forward and nods.

Simon’s hand falls yet again, but he moves with purpose back to table, flopping back on it. The edges dig into his lower back but he looks up at the ceiling in the Room of Requirement (he’d found out its title later). Jace joins him with hesitation, laying down much more gracefully, slowly relaxing once their arms brush.

“So… Have you tried thinking of Clary?”

“Yeah. It’s not that she doesn’t make me happy, nothing just immediately comes to mind that was all that big.” Jace mutters, and Simon hums and nods.

“What about your family? Alec and Isabelle, I mean.”

“I thought of sparring with them. Didn’t work.” He replies glumly, and Simon huffs.

“Max?”

“Nah, I’m not as close to him.”

“He’s adorable, though.” Simon says, earning himself a tiny bark of a laugh.

“We’re getting off topic.”

“Right. Umm… How about Quidditch?” He asks, and Jace blinks a couple times, sitting up slowly as if he hadn’t thought of it.

“I’ve got it!” He says, exclaiming loudly as he skyrockets off the table, scooting it back a couple inches so Simon nearly flops off of it, but he rights himself and stands to watch.

Jace starts to focus again, but this time he looks looser. His muscles are as relaxed as the liquid gold in his eyes, his hand lifted to cast his spell, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Expecto Patronum!” He repeats, and a brilliant animal bursts from the tip.

Not getting ahead of himself this time, Jace grips his wand tightly so it doesn’t clatter to the floor in shock. “Blimey—Simon, look! I don’t even know what it is!” He exclaims, watching the creature dance around him in the air, bouncing off of imaginary steps as it dips and twists.

“It’s… It’s a jackal, I think? I’m pretty sure.” Simon says, his voice breathless with wonder as he looks up at the animal, his jaw open.

Jace laughs freely, the sound rich as it floods through both of their chests. He eventually lets the jackal fade once more, closing his eyes and standing in the middle of the room, now dark without the light cast beforehand.

He kneels silently as if in prayer, still looking up in wonder as Simon joins him on the floor.

“What’d you think about?” He can’t help but asking, his words still elated.

“It was that time that Slytherin had beaten Hufflepuff, and then we beat Slytherin. The Quidditch game.” Jace says, and Simon nods appreciatively at the memory.

“You just… Came down from the stands immediately, I could hear you yelling above everybody.” Jace continues, still not looking at him, his tone wistful. “I was happy because I won, of course, but… It just made it better that you were there.” He says, his words coming out a little roughly, like he’s not used to saying them.

He turns to glance down at Simon, his expression less giddy and more questioning, as if silently asking him if he said something wrong due to his silence. To his surprise, Simon bowls him over in a kiss, their lips crashing together almost violently with the thrill of it. It’s not hasty, just excited, and Simon laughs against his lips.

“I can’t believe your happiest thought was seeing me. God, you’re such a loser.” He says when he pulls away, only to be tugged back down by Jace without hesitation, one hand rumpling his hair as he eagerly kisses him, this time a bit more graceful.

“Shut up.” He mumbles. Their bodies are thrumming, and Simon feels so light he might as well be Jace’s jackal, floating through the ceiling into the night sky.


End file.
